


Origins

by Limited_Edge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen, Reincarnation, Skull is reincarnated, Skull's origins, Some description of injury leading to death, along with full on death, but doesn't know everything about his past life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 04:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11395218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limited_Edge/pseuds/Limited_Edge
Summary: Sometimes, Skull wonders why he is the way he is. What made him abandon his name, his home, and everything he ever knew, with only a motorcycle to carry him away. What makes him crave freedom, yet tether himself so easily to others. Most of all though, Skull wonders why Death won’t let him die.Skull wonders, but he’ll never know the truth entirely- that before he was Skull, before he was Sam… He was someone else. Someone who held such sway over Death, that Death found him in the next life.And refused to let him go.





	Origins

Skull doesn’t like to think about who he used to be, back before he became one of the Arcobaleno, or even joined the circus. That boy was no one. A kid too old and too young, immature yet craving independence. Back then, he was just little Sammy, an only child of looming parents that already had his entire future planned.

He’s happy with who he is now. Reborn may only see him as a lacky, and he might not be the strongest of the ‘strongest seven’, but he never has to hide who he is. It’s ironic, that it’s when he’s covered in make-up, wearing piercings, and has his hair dyed purple that he feels like he’s finally showing his real face.

The friends and relationships he has now are also true. Despite the majority of them being involved in the mafia, there is no deception in how they treat him. Cruel words are cruel words, softened by a comradery that has taken _years_ to form (not moments, like before), while those who treat him kindly do not do so for the sole purpose of entering his good graces.

Skull appreciates this, above all else. He hates liars- and betrayers, most of all.

No, it is actually in the center of the criminal underbelly that Skull de Mort has found his true home. His life is a whirlwind of excitement, and though he his tethered, he is also free. No one expects anything of Skull. He is the only one who has never stained his hands with blood, and his fellow Arcobaleno have never accused him otherwise, a huge point in their books.

(Which Skull can’t help but wonder at. Is it really so strange for him to not be accused of crimes never committed?)

They don’t expect Skull to become a murderer, either. The trade-off is a sense of disregard. They push him around, and consider him weak- but Skull can handle it.

His loyalties, when earned, run deeper than they could ever imagine.

The only thing he could do without is the omnipotent forces that seem to pull the strings behind the scenes. Skull doesn’t know why this, above all else, draws his ire. ‘For the greater good’- a rational that Skull can never accept. Especially because it traps him once again, this time in the form of a child.

(…Once again?)

Maybe it’s not just the machinations of others that upset him…  At the fringes of what Skull can perceive, there always lurks a hint of déjà vu. The expectations of his relatives driving him to leave them behind; the eyes in the mirror before he first unlocked his flames to shade them a purple hue; the freeing sensation of the wind through his hair as he rides his bike… All this, and more, strikes a chord in him.

Skull has done this before.

He wonders sometimes who he was before. Before he was Skull- before he was Sam.

It’s the lingering imprint that has driven him to take on his newest name, one he _swears_ sounds familiar, and brings him joy to degrade, because it feels like he’s getting back at someone terrible, someone who deserves it- someone who would cringe to be associated with something so muggle as a circus performer slash stuntman. Skull de Mort. Skulldemort.

(The connection is on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach… And what’s a muggle?)

The same imprint drove him, quite literally, from his home on the motorcycle of his dreams, though this one can’t fly. He wasn’t going to live in a house like that again, competing against the perfect son who could do no wrong.

(Though… Sam was an only child. So where did that thought come from?)

Regardless, Skull knows what he wants above all else.

Freedom.

He is a cloud in more than just ability. Though Skull is tethered, it is done out of his own choice. No one tells Skull to join the circus. No one forces Skull to go the first meeting of the strongest seven. No one makes Skull stay in a Godforsaken house in which he suffered abuse, and no one ever will. It is Skulls own choices that keep him in the mafia, though he knows he could escape if he wanted. Skull is _very_ good at hiding.

(Where. Where did he get the memory of the house from?)

Skull tries not to be bothered by these imprints. They have pushed him to follow an exciting and wonderful life, one that he can never regret. If anyone ever asked Skull why he decides to stay in the mafia, or asked him why he acted the way he did, he would tell them the truth. Skull has been trapped before, and refuses to be trapped again. He refuses to hide himself away from the world, and will only ever be exactly who _he_ is- nothing more, nothing less.

There is only a single secret that Skull keeps close to heart, and hardly gives himself time to consider. It’s something he only dares to think about in the dark moments after he encounters death (but not _Death_ ) and comes away unscathed.

Skull may joke about it, exclaim that Death hates him, but he knows there’s more to it than that. Has known since he first slipped past Deaths hold, and confronted (and escaped) an early demise at the tender age of eleven.

He had been racing in the expansive yard behind his parents’ home, looping along the trail and through the trees, imagining an escape from the stuffy home that was his world. His games were filled with thoughts of magic, sparked into recent creation with the arrival of his birthday.

(But no owl’s arrival. His mother had sneered when he had asked if one was coming.)

Sam wasn’t paying attention. His thoughts were in the clouds, claimed by friendly werewolves, evil wizards, and the greatest of friends even as his feet pedalled below- and suddenly caught on a creeping root. Sam was sent sprawling, his head descending so fast towards the rocky ground that he wasn’t even able to scream. Pain exploded in his temple, then abruptly vanished.

When Sam opened his grey eyes, it was to a white world.

Stumbling to his feet, Sam nervously looked around him. Blank expanse was the only thing in sight, a type of sensory deprivation almost worse than pure darkness.

“Hello?” he called.

There was no response.

Tentative steps were taken, fear building with every stride. The magic from before was gone.

The rustle of fabric pierced the ominous quiet, and Sam wrenched himself around in the direction of the sound.

Behind him was _it-_ clad in a black cloak, face obscured by a hood. It wasn’t _right_ \- close to being human, but imperceptibly _off_ in a way that sent shivers rippling along Sam’s spine. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did- the creature before him could _kill him_.

Sam took a step back, and the _thing_ lifted a cloaked arm, taking a step forward to close the distance.

 **“Wait!”** It cried.

Sam froze.

The creature slowly lowered its arm. It didn’t take another step forward, for which Sam was grateful. **“Do you remember?”** It whispered. **“I’ve searched for you- across timelines and universes. The manner in which you died… it resulted in your birth again, outside of the world you once knew. I’ve spent infinities searching, and now… I’ve finally found you.”** The creature lifted its arms upwards, revealing pale hands which slowly pulled back the hood of its cloak. **“ _Do you remember me?”_**

Sam’s heart raced as he looked at the face before him. Pale skin. Dark, messy hair. Trembling lips. And eyes- piercing and green, focused intently into the grey of Sam’s own.

**“Please, Sirius. Please- _remember me_. You’re the only one I can reach, because you crossed the veil, and are subject to the utter control of death. _Please_.”**

Sam attempted to level his breathing, and stiffly, he took another step back. “I-I don’t know who the hell you are, but you’ve got the wrong person. M-my name is Sam! N-not Sirius!” Without further ado, Sam spun on his heel and raced into the endless white abyss. Panic drove his every step. The only thoughts that entered his mind were ones of escape, an unrelenting fear of the creature guised as a man, which instinct let him know would be the death of him, driving him forward.

There was no escape though. Its black form appeared before Sam, and he crashed into the waiting arms of his captor.

Sam furiously fought against the creatures hold, but its arms were like iron bars. Eventually his energy was spent, and Sam drooped lifelessly in its hold. Carefully, the creature settled him on the ground, and crouched beside him.

 **“There’s no need to panic- I _won’t_ hurt you.”** The solemn promise from the creature caused Sam to risk another glance. The otherworldliness of it was even worse up close- its skin was too pale, its bones to pronounced, its eyes too green. But the gaze levelled upon Sam was beseeching and gentle, and slowly, Sam’s heart rate evened out.

 **“I see now that it was foolish of me to find you. Reincarnation wipes the soul clean. There was no hope that you would remember.”** The creature sighed, and lifted a hand to its face to push against something over the bridge of its nose that wasn’t there. It blinked at the action, and wrinkled its nose before lowering its hand. Its gaze returned to Sam’s wide eyes.

 **“I-I won’t bother you again. I understand why you’re scared- it’s just like how I was, when we first met… But I don’t have time to clear your confusion. Any longer here, and you won’t be able to return to life.”** The creature sighed again. **“At least I know that you have another chance- a chance to live.”**

Sam carefully lifted himself to his feet, never taking away his gaze from the creature that watched him with achingly sad eyes. After a moment, it smiled, so softly and gently that for the first time, it looked human.

 **“Merlin, you still even _look_ like _you_ … Even if you never remember, at least I know you have the chance to be happy.” **The creature rose to its feet, and towered over Sam. **“Resist death. You have nothing to fear from me.”** Before Sam could flinch away, the creature reached forward and placed its hand on his forehead, igniting _something_ within him.

Sam could feel a pull within his chest, and against his will, his heart rate accelerated. The white expanse around him slowly began to shift, purple fire fringing the edges of his vision, and Sam somehow knew that he was leaving.

“Wait!” Sam cried. “W-who are you? Who am I? Am I ever going to see you again?!”

The creature quirked its lips. **“I was once Harry, just as you were once Sirius. But now, as you are Sam… I am Death. And possibly- though not anytime soon. I would hate to see you again before your time has come. I’ve missed you, Sirius- but I love you too much to drag you from life just so I can end my lonely penance.”**

The creature- _Death-_ faded from view. When Sam opened his eyes, it was to the forest floor. Carefully, he lifted his head from the ground, and probed at the blood thickly coating his hair. Despite the blood, there was no gash.

Shaken, Sam returned to the house. It was only after he rinsed his hair and looked into the mirror for the first time since the incident that he saw the change. His eyes, instead of the grey they had been previously, were now a vibrant purple.

 

Xxx

 

Skull doesn’t like to think about who he used to be, mostly because the inevitable course of those thoughts lead to his first and only encounter with Death. No matter the number of times he has ‘died’ since, Skull has never again encountered the creature (the man) who knows him- knows the source of his _imprint._

And so Skull wonders why he is the way he is, why the imprint he only knows echoes of affects him the way it does. Why it made him abandon his name, his home, and everything he ever knew, with only a motorcycle to carry him away. Why it makes him crave freedom, yet tether himself so easily to others.

Skull wonders what origins he had in a life before that made him who he is now. But most of all, Skull wonders why death won’t let him die.

He’s scared to find out.

But Skull lives in the moment. He only thinks about these things sometimes, and almost entirely avoids thinking about Death. He is Skull de Mort, a stuntman that is loyal to the core, who is free but willingly ties himself down, and lives life to the fullest. Not Sam. Not Sirius.

It doesn’t matter who he was before. Skull will only ever be exactly who _he_ is- nothing more, nothing less.

**Author's Note:**

> This was made in less than two hours, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know! Regardless, I hope this was enjoyable.


End file.
